Nightmare
by Erin Giles
Summary: Based on a piece of fanart. Set in Season 3 when House and Wilson are still sharing. Implied HouseWilson.


TITLE: Nightmare

AUTHOR: Erin Giles

RATING: PG

SUMMARY: This is based on a drawing elicia8 did which was just the coolest most awesomest thing eva!

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"House?" Wilson questioned, almost whining as he leant into the taller mans frame, while House pushed back in a vain attempt to hold them both upright.

"Mm?" House replied, distracted.

"I think I'm drunk." Wilson mumbled softly into House's shoulder where his head was now resting, his eyes drooping.

House let a wry smile cross his features for a fraction of a second, "No shit, Sherlock." House retorted as he started to ease the blue button down, un-pressed shirt from Wilson's shoulder's. He couldn't really remember the last time Wilson's shirts had been ironed, mainly because House didn't own an ironing board, but also because Wilson seemed to have stopped caring about his appearance, something which had been niggling at House for a while. At the moment though he had more important things to deal with, like a drunk Jimmy for one.

"Need to sleep." Wilson mumbled his head dropping towards House's shoulder again as his eyes closed. House hazarded a guess that the motion and the task of closing his eyes had sent Jimmy's world spinning as he gripped onto House's shirt with such force that House instinctively put his hands up to stop them both from toppling to the floor. He felt his fingers slide beneath the warm cotton of Wilson's undershirt as he looked down at Wilson, the concern etched all over his features. Wilson got drunk sure, but usually when there was someone else around. Getting drunk on his own, well that was House's forte.

"World stopped spinning yet?" There was no reply as Wilson continued to breathe steadily into House's neck, making him feel wanted. He shook Wilson slightly. "Hey, superman! You got out your phone box?"

"What?" Wilson mumbled, lifting his head slightly and immediately regretting it as he stumbled backward towards the couch almost going down and taking House with him. House used the stumble to his advantage, guiding Wilson towards the couch. He continued to cling onto House's shirt though, his eyes fluttering between closed and open, too drunk to close them and too tired to keep them open.

"You must be drunk if you can't lie down without holding on."

"Frank Sinatra." Wilson stated with a drunken air of satisfaction.

"God, you're so drunk you can hardly stand yet you can still tell me the name of the 1940's teenage girl's dream man. How gay are you?" House mocked as Wilson continued to hold on before opening his eyes. He looked pointedly into House's piercing blue gaze, so close that House couldn't move away from his glassy stare as he was still gripping onto his shirt with considerable strength.

"Grace," Wilson paused, either too drunk to continue or too emotionally drained to speak the words and all of a sudden House understood. He understood why Wilson was so drunk and now why he didn't want to let go of House's shirt. He fought with himself not to tear his gaze away from Wilson's eyes, feeling Wilson's hot breath on his face, the smell of vodka and vomit so strong he wanted to gag. Instead, he frowned down at Wilson, a look of compassion on his features.

"I'm sorry." He placed a hand upon one of the fist's that was clutching his shirt and Wilson let go, closing his eyes as he seemed to pass into a unconscious, drunken stupor. House moved him into a more comfortable position on the couch, lifting his feet up and covering him with a blanket before placing a pillow under his head.

It seemed as if he had lost ten years in the last minute since passing into sleep and it made House smile at how young the boy before him looked. House then did something that even surprised himself. He bent towards Wilson, brushing the hair back off his forehead and placing a motherly kiss on his dampened brow. He turned without a word toward the bedroom and shut the door behind him, effectively shutting out the night's events for neither of them would mention it in the morning. Some nightmares were best kept in the dark.


End file.
